


Empyrean Combustion

by cosmickaiju



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s03e07 42, Gen, Introspection, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 21:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15566697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmickaiju/pseuds/cosmickaiju
Summary: self-immolation: a deliberate and willing sacrifice of oneself, often by fire





	Empyrean Combustion

It’d be so easy to give in to the sun particles coursing through their body— almost _right_. It’s only fitting for this body, sprung from golden, searing energy— bursting with too much energy still— to go out like this, to _burn_. The anger coursing through their veins along with the particles feels natural, _justified_ , and it’s so hard to tell how much they’re being fed from the sun and how much is their own— because it’s right, the sun had been hurt, had been torn apart— of course they were furious. 

Except— no, they had to protect Martha, at the very least, they care—she was important and they couldn’t let her die, stranded out here, not when it was their own fault. It was their fault they’d landed here, and now it was going to be them who brought about her death. They should have never listened, should have never taken someone else. They were too dangerous. 

So they lie— they’re fairly certain that the cold will kill them, or at the very least send them into a healing coma, or, perhaps, if they were really lucky, freeze the worst of it out of them. But it will buy her time, and well, that Martha Jones, she’s brilliant, she is— they’re sure she’ll figure it out, get back to their Ship safely afterwards. They’re not sure what they’re saying anymore, not sure what thoughts are being turned into a vocal output as they try to fight the sun, fight themself, but they’re scared, scared because they’re infinitely more dangerous than any human, even without the connection to the sun giving them the power to vaporize a creature at a glance.

But they should have known better, they should have known, because they were fighting with themself, because they were losing to that knot of anger and righteousness that held fast and deep in them, and they’ve already twisted and tweaked a few threads before they can restrain themself again and— 

The ma ch ine s t o p s.

And they can feel themself melting already, and it’s too soon, far too soon, Martha is still right there they have to get her away it can’t be their fault— except it’s not their fault, not their fault it’s her fault it the humans, the stupid greedy humans— but no, they should have reined themself in better, should have at least let her get away let her find a solution but now here they are, and they’re going to kill her. Except—

They know the solution. They know the solution because they’re as connected to the sun as it is to them, and maybe the humans couldn’t properly connect, but they weren’t human, had never been human and they’re yelling at her, because she has to vent the engines that’s the only way to escape, not just from crashing into the sun but from _them_. The auxiliary engines are far away from this med bay and it will buy her time they know is already running out. And she finally, finally runs.

Of course, their temporary respite doesn’t last for long, because they’re thawed, they’ve long been thawed, and the pain-heat-energy-rage courses through them, and the vengeful thing that sits just behind their hearts gnashes its teeth and wraps itself around them, and it feels like it _belongs_. And that scares them because they know it’s dangerous and it scares them because they feel-know it’s _right_ , and it scares them because they need to protect Martha, but she’s one of them too. 

Humans, always taking and taking and _taking_ always bleeding _them_ dry, using their offer of protection with no attempt to acknowledge how they or any other aliens involved feel because it’s always _humans, humans, humans,_ it’s always violence, even if they’re minding their own business or _running away_ (and they’re reminded of Harriet Jones, of six little words _and maybe they should do that more often_ ), and maybe they should take things into their own hands and stop humans hurting everything around them, and now this pristine beautiful sun, simply existing, torn apart and **_screaming_** all because some humans wanted something _cheap_. 

And the small part of them not already consumed by anger and fire and vengeance, still trying to believe in those humans that are trying to be good, is so, so exhausted, maybe everything else is right, maybe it would hurt less if they could give into that anger, could blame it on the sun they know is hurt, is egging them on. And they’re hurt too, and maybe it’s right and they  


l  
e  
t

g  
o. 

And they **_B U R N._**

***

 

Except it doesn’t last long, because as they knew Martha Jones was brilliant, and the sun releases its hold on them as the engines vent, and they’re left with a bone deep exhaustion, their own anger, and a feeling of disgust sitting low in their chest, vengefulness shoved back in it’s rightful place. It’s hard to tell where their disgust for the humans ends and disgust at themself for giving in begins— they were too dangerous, they should have known better, exhausted or not. It was their burden to keep themself together. But then one amazing Martha Jones is running towards them, and they’re hugging her tight to them, relief that they hadn’t kil— hadn’t gotten her killed escaping them as a tiny gleeful giggle. 

Later, much later, when they’re back, safe and well, reasonably sound in their ship, Martha makes a comment about not needing them, and they swallow back their lingering anger at self centered humans as it rears its head, because of course leave it to a human to think they would have figured out they needed to vent the engines without them, let alone the fact the sun was alive, or would have survived if they hadn’t expended so much energy fighting themself. 

But they don’t say anything, even if they think they’re right, because the anger scares them, because they don’t need to scare off the one human keeping them in check as best she can with the limited information they’d provided. But they think she realizes the comment was a bit uncalled for, then checks if they’re okay, and they’re not sure how to answer that at all. So instead they offer half a smile, suggest ice skating, and she just goes along with it. And they know the sun particles are gone, but some part of them is desperately, naively hoping they can freeze the rest of their own anger out.


End file.
